


Little Secret

by Marlmo



Category: RWBY
Genre: Child Abuse, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, What Have I Done, Whitley plays the piano while Papa Schnee molests him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 15:41:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8806678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marlmo/pseuds/Marlmo
Summary: When Whitley was five years old, he was too young to realize what his father did to him.He was too young to realize all the ways his father could hurt him, without ever hitting him.He was too young to know what sexual abuse was.





	

**Author's Note:**

> We know Jacques Schnee is abusive and manipulative. I wanted to explore a certain type of abuse.
> 
> Most seem to think that Whitley is the favorite child. But what if Papa Schnee loves his son a little too much?
> 
> Please see the tags. I didn't go beyond a certain point since I didn't want to make this fic too graphic. But there are still some very uncomfortable parts.
> 
> Forgive me FNDM for I have sinned. OTL

By the time he's five, Whitley learns to watch his step around his father.

Because even though he's just a little kid, he understands enough to know that angering his father is a very bad idea.

As much as he adores him, the head of the Schnee family can be a frightening man.

He's seen him ground Winter for ages because she refused to take an interest in the company, and instead spent her days training and honing her skills in combat.

He's seen the cold and disappointed look he gives Weiss when her tutors report that she hasn't been doing as well as they expected in her lessons.

He's heard him yell at the men in suits that drop by the manor every now and then. When Whitley asked who they were, their smiling butler Klein told him they were father's friends from work. Whitley thinks they must be bad friends anyway because they're always making father mad.

He's heard the frightful arguments he would have with his mother.

 

  
One particular argument that stands out in his mind was when he heard father yell at mother for the first time.

"- expected other women. But him? A child? _Your_ child?"

He heard mother's furious voice leaking through the gap in the door that was left ajar. She wasn't yelling, but he could still sense the ice-cold anger.

"Winter and Weiss think you're just playing favorites. But there's more to it, isn't there?" she says.

Whitley hadn't meant to eavesdrop. He just wanted to tell father that the men who came to see him were waiting for him in his study. But he couldn't help but overhear their conversation.

"Willow please. You're letting your emotions make you irrational," came his father's reply, sounding thoroughly agitated in contrast to mother's cold tone. "I don't even know where you're getting such insane ideas."

"Do you take me for a fool?" said his mother with a trembling voice, "I see the way you look at him. You've never even looked at me that way. It sickens me."

"Willow that is enough!" Father exploded. "I have no time for your hysterics. The representatives from the export division will be here soon. You may go. Now."

"I'm not done with this Jacques."

At the sound of footsteps approaching the door, Whitley scurried out of there before mother could catch him snooping. He had been so distressed that his parents could be so angry ar each other that he had little effort to spare on figuring out what they were talking about.

* * *

 

 

Whitley's piano lessons are scheduled at 4PM on the dot. His teacher would usually be waiting in the music room for him. But today, his teacher is nowhere in sight. Instead, it is his father who greets him when Whitley enters the room for the usual session.

Without waiting for the question that formed in the boy's mind, his father quickly explains that his teacher was unavailable at the moment. But instead of cancelling the lesson and wasting an afternoon, father had come to observe him practice on the piano.

Hearing this, little Whitley is equal parts delighted and terrified. He's excited that father thought he was important enough to take the time to listen to him play. But he's scared of putting on a disappointing display. After all, father did not take kindly to failure.

Still, he smiles brightly at his father and chirped, "OK, sure!"

At five years old, he's too small the reach the piano keys. But the pillows that he usually uses to prop him up aren't on the piano seat. He looks around the room in case they've been accidentally misplaced by a maid. But the pillows are nowhere in sight.

As if reading his mind, father explains, "I've had them washed."

He pats his thighs, motioning for Whitley to sit on his lap.

"Come sit with me instead," he instructs with the same firm voice he's heard him use on everyone. "You'll reach the piano easier."

Whitley thinks this is strange and wants to ask why they can't just get a new stack of pillows. But instead of questioning him, he responds, "Yes, father."

He dutifully seats himself on his father's lap. He wriggles around, trying to get comfortable. The height from his father's lap is different from what he's used to. And he can't quite get the proper arm posture that his teacher has been drilling into him since lesson one.

But he doesn't want father to think he's childishly complaining.

Father rests a hand on Whitley's shoulder. His touch is loose and relaxed. But Whitley can still feel the weight of his hand, solid and formidable on Whitley's tiny frame.

"Now, why don't you play me that new song Ms. Cadence has been teaching you?"

Whitley nods and plays the opening notes that he's learned by heart. The melody is simple, but comes out bright and clear.

He hears his father hum thoughtfully behind him. He continues to play the song, never missing a note.

 _See Weiss? You're not the only one with musical talents!_ He thinks proudly, happy that for all his shortcomings compared to his sisters, he at least has something he can do well.

He finishes the song with one final chord. He anxiously wants to see his father's expression to see if he's impressed with his performance. But father's firm hand on his shoulder keeps him from twisting around to look behind him.

"That was acceptable," his father notes. His voice is even and cold. "But hardly impressive for a Schnee. I had thought you already progressed further than this."

Whitley's stomach is filled with an unpleasant swooping sensation.

"Oh," Whitley falters. He hopes his voice doesn't sound too unhappy.

"I'm only telling you this because I know you can do better," father says in what Whitley thinks is an encouraging voice.

Whitley nods wordlessly, too scared to speak in case his voice gives away his disappointment.

"Perhaps you'll do better with a different song. Hmm...let's see." he pauses as he muses for a bit.

As his father racks his mind for a different song to play, Whitley is becoming more aware of how uncomfortable he is. His father's form is hard and unyielding beneath him.

Whitley, who is used to the softness of pillows, squirms again in his father's lap in an effort to find a more comfortable position.

Behind him, he hears father let out a soft grunt. Normally, Whitley wouldn't even notice such a barely audible sound. But with father hovering so close to his ears, every slight noise is magnified.

Instantly, Whitley deduces that it was a grunt of annoyance at his fidgeting. He holds still immediately, with his hands balled up tensely on his own lap.

He fixes his eyes on the piano keys in front of him.

Father clears his throat.

"Well," he says, "Why don't you try _The Snowbird Seasons_ this time?"

Whitley dives right into the song, determined to prove just how good he is. He starts off well, playing the slow and mournful melody.

The two sit wordlessly for a few moments. His father basks in the piano's tune. While Whitley does his best to concentrate on getting the right chords on beat.

Whitley knows he has to be careful. If he disappoints father again, he might get punished.

With one hand still perched on Whitley shoulder, father takes his other hand and places it on Whitley's knee. Whitley is so focused on the song, that he barely notices it.

Whitley goes through the whole song without messing up a single note. He even flawlessly does that complicated bit in the second verse. He ends _The Snowbird Seasons_ and waits nervously for his father's opinion.

His father remains silent for a few moments. Although Whitley notices that father is breathing a little heavily.

"Was that better?" prods Whitley apprehensively.

Was he so disappointed with him that he couldn't even find the words to say how badly he did?

Despite himself, he's starts squirming again in a mix of nervousness and fear at his father's silence. He can't stop fidgeting as his worry overwhelms him.

"Y-Yes," his father says finally. "Yes that was - that was much better."

His voice comes out weird and strained. Like he wants to say something else too.

Still, his father's acknowledgement at his improved performance makes Whitley smile. Whitley fidgets again on his father's lap. But this time in gleeful jitters, rather than fear.

Whitley hears his father make a soft gasping noise. Whitley stills immediately.

"Father?" the boys asks, "I'm sorry. Did I hurt you? Is it cause I'm too heavy?"

His father slid his hand from Whitley's knee up to his leg.

The sudden movement startles Whitley and he jumps a little in surprise.

"No it's fine." his father reassures him in that same strange voice.

Whitley noticed something poking against his butt a little. It doesn't hurt but it sure feels weird and uncomfortable.

"Father, something is-" Whitley starts but gets quickly cut off.

"Why don't you play another song? Anything you like."

"Um. Alright"

Whitley picks a faster song with more complex melodies. Something he thinks will impress father even more.

But he's barely finished the first verse when the hand that his father was resting on Whitley's shoulder moves to envelope his tiny chest, pulling him close against his father. And the hand on his leg makes its way farther up his thigh.

"Father?" Whitley says hesitantly. His father wasn't one for physical shows of affection. He couldn't even remember the last time he embraced him. So feeling his father's touch all over him felt odd.

Confused and distracted, he makes a mistake and the harmonies come out discordant and ugly. He fumbles and pauses for a moment to get his bearings.

"Keep playing" his father commands. His voice comes out soft and breathy.

Whitley tries to ignore the hard thing that keeps pressing against his bum. But it keeps prodding against him and it's throwing off his concentration.

Whitley picks up from where he stopped and tries his best to stay on point with the song.

But he hears his father breathing inches from his ear. He's panting now, like he's overexerting himself on something. Whitley can feel his father shudder underneath him.

Whitley almost reaches the end of the song before his father's gasps and grunts make him completely distracted. Whitley stops playing completely. He's so alarmed that he forgets he's disobeying a direct order from his father.

"Are you alright?" Whitley tries again. His father's strange breathing sounds quite scary. "Are you feeling sick?"

"I'm fine. Everything is fine," father says. One of his hands inches closer between Whitley's legs. Closer and closer until he's gently caressing Whitley's crotch. The thin fabric of his shorts feels even thinner to him now. He can almost feel the warmth of his father's hand through the cloth.

Why is father acting so strange? He wants father to stop touching him. He doesn't know why. But it makes him feel bad, even though it doesn't really hurt.

His father is breathing harder now. Whitley whimpers and instinctively tries to shut his legs close together.

"Shh," his father tries to sooth him, trying to ease his legs apart.

He stops fondling between his legs and moves his hand towards the waistband of the boy's shorts.

_Wait. You're not supposed to touch there, right?_

"I love you, Whitley," he says in that breathy voice, "Love you so much."

Whitley had always wanted to hear those words. He wants his father to tell him he's proud of him. That he loves him. But somehow, those words that he longed for seem to be the worst thing he could hear right now.

His father's hand reaches under the waistband, slipping through. Whitley can feel his father's large firm hand searching, reaching until finally-

 

  
When it's all over, his father warns him to keep quiet.

"Don't tell anyone about this," father whispers in his ear.

"Not your sisters. Or the maids. And especially not your mother."

Whitley isn't sure exactly what "this" is that he's not supposed to tell. He can tell father had been acting very strange, but Whitley can't understand what he was trying to do. And he doesn't know why his father's touch felt so wrong, especially when he touched him _there_. And what was that sticky white stuff? Did that come from his father?

But he doesn't want father to think he's too dumb to get it. He wants father to see that he can be just as smart as the grown ups are.

"OK. I swear I won't tell anyone." Whitley promises his father, although a slight tremble of uncertainty creeps it's way into his voice when he says it.

Father gives a reassuring pat on his head, affectionately mussing up his snow white hair.

"It'll be a secret. Just between you and me. Right Whitley?" father asks.

Whitley's bright blue eyes light up. A secret just between him and father! That means he must be special. That means he's definitely the favorite.

"Yeah, it's our little secret," Whitley agrees.

**Author's Note:**

> BTW, I just made up the song title for The Snowbird Seasons. 
> 
> Also, I obviously have no idea how to play the piano.


End file.
